Shadowland
by OverlyDramatic
Summary: Their circumstances set them together. Their character set them apart.


Well, here's a drabble of sorts. My first HP, so be kind.

**Disclaimer: Bout that time, eh chaps? Righto.**

They were so alike, those two. To look at them one would never think it. Different worlds, different generations, different classes. She was proper; she was delicate; she was normal. He was untamed; he was gangly; he was abnormal. Yet so many things connected them. And there, at the start and end of it, were shadows.

She, the elder of the two, knew them first. Her sister--so lovely, so unique--stole away her light until naught was left but whispers and grey. Praises sung to her sister lingered in the air, haunting, long after she had gone; for she knew her sister would return, as she always did, and she would once more make her bed in the loneliness of rejection. She wished vainly for respite nonetheless, torn between love for her sister and hatred for what her sister made of her. She waited, longing, as the train arrived; her sister descending in flowing robes of talent, sweeping past her quickly to meet their parents. She loved and feared that moment both, brief as it was, when she met her sister's eyes on the platform; here was her dear sister returned to her, yet here her torment began afresh.

But he, the younger, knew them longer. He knew rejection from birth, unwitting though it was; for his family had no time for him, no time to care for one more. At once the same but utterly below the rest, he sat lonely on the outskirts, growing, learning. At times light would flash, easing the grey of his existence; a flash of red, come to hold him close or teach him tricks, before once more he was forgotten in the fray. At times he found himself the center of attention; instances where his brothers would feign interest, only to use him for their own amusement. Those were the worst and the best in his mind; simply a tool for their own cruel enjoyment, yet part of a unit, if only for a moment. But he knew, through it all, that he was alone; he was beneath them, unworthy of note. Not the eldest, not an adventurer, not perfect, not devious or a pair; not even the youngest, who gathered more excitement than the others combined; for baby was she, when she preformed her feat, breaking the multi-generational chain of males. The youngest, it was, who stole his glory; his brief shining moment that no one remembers but everyone cherishes. Her conception shoved him aside, yet he could not begrudge her; in fact, he loved her most of all. But betwixt the many faces and the sea of carrot hair, his lone head dulled into red.

Again, it came back to the shadows. The shadows connected them, united them, gave them each an intrinsic understanding of the other, though they had never met and likely would not get along. It was the shadows that drew them to Harry Potter.

She, once more, drifted first. Freedom from her hollow life, reason and order and attention. She catered to her husband, she worshipped her son, not out of duty or force, but love; love, and a desire for them to have better than she. The sun was drifting from behind the clouds, and she felt hope shining pure and clear. It changed with a bundle on the doorstep, a bundle and a note; the last fragments of the life she had left behind, suffocating her in her haven. She tried to hide the memory, ignore the signs, bury the lightning that outshone her own lamp so greatly. In the end, the lightning burst forth, and she herself was blinded in the aftermath. Cast once more into darkness, into shadow, into death.

And he, as before, followed. Purpose loomed closer, a new beginning rose near; enticing, calling. He readied his things, he beamed at his mother, he cleaned his second-hand possessions until they seemed not so old at all. The faces were shifting farther, splotches of red and dots of brown spreading, dividing, mixing into a sea of flowing black. The lightning burst with an intensity that amazed him, drew him; yet ultimately cast his flickering candle to nothing. Finally free of the fire, a jagged scar now blocked him from view, hiding him just behind the corner and out of sight. He was there always, steadfast, loyal, encountering all for his friend; but when the dust settled, it was the lightning, and not the candle, that everyone praised. For what difference could a mere flickering flame make in the face of such magnificent light?

The shadows were their home. They grew used to it, accepted it; sometimes bitter, sometimes sad, and still others with wistful admiration for those who stole their light. They were the forgotten; unintentional, both, but forgotten nonetheless. So they both lived; one step behind, just beyond vision, barely visible throughout the haze.

Yet for all their similarities, all the common trials and shared loneliness, one thing made them different. She accepted the shadows bitterly, growing hard and calloused with time, hating the darkness in which they entombed her; he accepted them, loved them, knew them for what they were. She ignored her prison to stare hopelessly out the slits in the bars, vainly wishing to break free. He learned the shadows, intimate caresses of the dark haven they cast him in; with his knowledge he saw the cracks in the wall, found the hand, the delicate, ink stained fingers begging to pull him free of the pit. She saw hands too, vague snatches of wrinkled and careworn limbs from the corners of her eyes. He grasped the hands thankfully, tenderly, and his smile shone through the greyscale; but she, independent, self-important, half mad, turned the knarled fingers to grasping claws in her mind, and turning frantically, she buried herself in the darkest corner. He recognized help, and with it, chose to help himself; while she hid in fear of her rescuer, sinking back into the shadows she knew so well. He found a way out, and in the end, that is what set Ronald Weasly apart from Petunia Dursley. In the end, that is what made him great.

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

This idea popped into my head last summer while I was reading a fic about Petunia and thought it was about Ron for a while. Then I ignored it and went merrily along my way. But it started pestering me again last night, so I decided to write it down really quickly. It didn't take me too long, so forgive any errors. Kudos to whomever gets the reference in my disclaimer.


End file.
